


Ruse

by Siera_Writes



Category: Blur
Genre: M/M, PWP, Smut, circa 2010
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 18:25:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12965658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siera_Writes/pseuds/Siera_Writes
Summary: Jamie stands for a second, blinking at the heady one-two of  interest and irritation lurching through him in a quick burst. His tongue seems determined to refuse to work to his whims, leaving him stumbling to reach a coherent line of questioning. “Where did you get that?” It wasn't what he was meaning to ask, but it's the only thing he manages that doesn't short his brain out a bit. The image before him might permanently be burnt into his mind, for better or worse.





	Ruse

**Author's Note:**

> Well, sorry about that... I've really been meaning to write, and I have been, but nothing has really come out of those attempts.
> 
> This came to me in a sudden rush this evening, so it's all written in one sitting, which means there are likely errors throughout, and as this is - as always - unbetaed... Well, sorry about that also. Thank you to all those who have stuck with me and asked about Law 18 - I definitely have plans to work on it, you'll just need to be patient with me (as you have well been). I have exams coming up soon, and have had multiple assignments every two weeks for the last two and a half months. Been busy...
> 
> This was inspired by a quote from Damon about sexual frustration and Jamie wearing lipstick and making out with his own reflection... yeah...
> 
> Enjoy, I guess. Sorry about the incoming bad pun too.

Jamie supposes this is deserved payback for the stunt he pulled on Damon. Sure, his approach was a little less direct, meant to frustrate more than anything, but yes, he deserves this.

Damon's seated with little primness on his sofa, fully clothed, left arm resting on its back, fingers of his right hand drumming an incessant rhythm onto his thigh, the only tell for his impatience. The room's bathed in soft, warm light from a single lamp in the far corner, so its reach is limited, but it still catches Damon's hair and casts it in copper and gold.

His lips are ruby red.

Jamie shifts his stance, realising his weight's resting on his back foot now, coughs to clear his throat, and draws the back of his wrist across his lips, uncertain. “What did you call me here to talk about?” His voice is meeker than he expected, and he breaks from the baleful stare that's locked on him, eyes skittering again to Damon's mouth, a burst of annoyance flaring as he watches a smirk grow, livid contrasted against his pale skin.

“Well, Jamie.” Damon's voice is lowly amused, and he tips his head to look away, lips pursing as he speaks, shadow gathering below his cheekbone. “I have to admit, that was a bit of a rouge...” He sweeps his eyes back to gaze hungrily at Jamie, mouth held slightly open and round with the vowel for a beat or two longer, before relaxing fully back into his seat, head tipping back with an toothy grin.

Jamie stands for a second, blinking at the heady one-two of interest and irritation lurching through him in a quick burst. His tongue seems determined to refuse to work to his whims, leaving him stumbling to reach a coherent line of questioning. “Where did you get that?” It wasn't what he was meaning to ask, but it's the only thing he manages that doesn't short his brain out a bit. The image before him might permanently be burnt into his mind, for better or worse.

Damon smiles to himself, huffing a laugh, though clearly it's not aimed at him. He doesn't know how he can tell. They've spent far too long around each other. He easily moves to a stand, eyes catching Jamie's and locking with an intent he recognises, sending a shiver rolling down his spine, one he can't hide. Damon's eyes shine even as he pads away from the weak illumination, catching his stubble and glinting off it oddly. Jamie feels like a cornered animal, even with the open door to the hallway directly to his right, even with the door unlocked with the key he has to Damon's own house.

“I bought it, this morning, after I thought about you wearing some much the same as this.” He quirks an eyebrow. “I'm not sure yours was as good as this, with how much of it smeared over that mirror, but the debauched look did have a remarkable suitability for you. I liked it very much.” Damon's moving to circle Jamie now, a hand resting lightly on his shoulder, and a thrill runs through him at the thought of what that hand can do. And it's only his right hand. “I wondered whether that look would suit me, but I'm not sure how much it'll actually shift.” Damon finishes his little orbit, close now, very close. His eyes dip to Jamie's lips, unabashed as he flickers his tongue out, before raising them to look intently at him. “Shall we find out?”

Jamie can only move his head jerkily once in a facsimile of a nod before Damon's clasping his hand in his, and he's being wrenched from the room with fervour, excitement broiling in the pit of his stomach. His breaths are already coming harder from the images of just what's about to happen, knowing this time it'll be at their own leisure, not just a messy coupling backstage. They both push the door to Damon's room open together, already leaning in to kiss, sloppy and indulgent, hands skimming over and rucking up their tops, before they both break away to shuck them off.

Damon looks unreal lit like this, light from the landing, and from the street-lamps outside through the closed blinds meshing. He's breathing just as hard as Jamie, and he can see the shift of his ribs beneath his skin, the lines of muscles and tendons in his arms. Damon's always had great arms.

Jamie steps closer, smoothing his palms up and over them, following his flesh to his shoulders, his neck, to move to cup the back of Damon's head to pull him near, licking into Damon's mouth, grinning at the feel of the matte on his lips, unfamiliar on him, but not something he himself is unused to in kisses. He smirks as Damon tugs roughly at his hips to bring them flush, and they both gasp at the flash of pleasure it sends through them. Damon starts to bat at his front, pulling away so he can fumble briefly at Jamie's fly, then his own, watching with little-damped interest as Jamie extricates himself from his socks and underwear, mirroring the manoeuvre a few moments later. If anything, Damon's eyes are darker than before. “Come here, Jamie.”

He does: he steps from his boxers and over his dumped jeans like he's floating, unimpeded and graceful even without sparing the garments a second thought. Damon's backing away, looks surprised when the bed hits the backs of his calves and he falls to seated, before scrambling back up the bed, lips apart, arousal evident. Jamie attempts to continue his grace, but there's only so smooth one can make mounting the bed, and crawling towards your partner. He tries to hold Damon's gaze, but he feels momentarily ridiculous, a smile threatening in his eyes, and he laughs, and so does Damon, beckoning him closer all the while, until Jamie is covering the length of him from head to toe, neck curled so he can press his mouth to Damon's warm shoulder, beaming, rocked by Damon's hearty laughter, grinning and feeling light at the fact that no matter what, they will always be able to share the simple joy of unashamed camaraderie, even when they no longer share their bodies.

Damon's hands skim his flanks, soothing him as they work past the moment, before a gravity settles over them again, and all of a sudden, details leap out at Jamie again. Like the flash of Damon's pulse beneath the thin skin of his neck, like Damon's erection pressing at his hip, like the little sigh he can force from behind Damon's lips when he traces his teeth across the meat of his shoulder before biting down, with just a touch more force than necessary, until Damon bucks, and Jamie wraps his arms around his strong waist more firmly, shifting to line them up and baring his whole weight down upon the man below him, feeling sudden envy upon seeing his lips part in abandon, a sound leaving them like he's crying.

Jamie begins to rock his hips forward, shivering at the sensation, and as cool air washes over him. He presses his mouth against Damon's with little care, with bruising pressure, feeling gratified as he melts beneath him, hands scrabbling against Jamie's back with desperation he doesn't bother to conceal. He's always liked that about Damon - his easy demonstrableness is a delight to behold and drink in each and every time they fuck.

Jamie lifts Damon's back as much as he can with them sandwiched like this, so he can pull one arm free, snake it between them and stroke them both, loosing a shuddering gasp from them both, and curses through clenched teeth. He keeps working at them, keeping the pressure he applies steady, whilst kissing Damon deeply and thoroughly, satisfaction bursting through him any time a hand strays into his hair and clenches a little in response to his ministrations, any time Damon makes a sound like a whine, incongruent in his whisky deep voice.

It takes at most five minutes to bring Damon off, holding himself back by virtue of wanting to see Damon come, wanting to witness his lips part and head toss back and hear the ruined, gutteral moan, hands removed from Jamie and pressing into the sheets, fingers twisting at the pristine cotton.

Jamie rears back to sit on his haunches, hovering above Damon's waist, and brings himself off to the debauched image before him, gasping when he reaches climax, and catching himself before he falls, shifting to the side so as to lie beside Damon, match his languid repose for a minute or two as he gets his breath back, returns to himself, eyes flickering closed.

When Jamie looks over again, he notes how the red of his lips has smeared, and no doubt he shares some of the scarlet over his own lips, as tattered and wrecked as Damon's. As he comes down, he begins to shift, uncomfortable with the cool over the tack on his skin, and of the feel of his hair. But he remains, stays as still as he can manage, before it gets too much. He taps at Damon's chest, just below his clavicle, shaded soft in the odd lighting. He receives one eye, opened lazily, and an accompanying frown. He looks ridiculous, and a grin stretches over his mouth again, one he can't hide before Damon turns to glare at him fully in disapproval. “What?”

“Nothing.” Damon's unconvinced, that much he can tell easily. “Let's shower. C'mon, it'll be warmer than lying here, and we'll feel better afterwards.”

“You can, I'm quite comfortable here.”

Jamie smirks, smooths his cool palm and fingers over Damon's front, laughing when he yelps. “You always were hot-blooded. Shame I'm not. C'mon.” He loops his fingers around Damon's wrist as he moves over him on his knees, moving to stand beside the bed, pulling him from it with little real resistance, even as he mutters low under his breath. He releases his hand as he heads to the bathroom, knowing it like his own, switching the light on and wincing at the sudden brightness, knowing as much as feeling Damon's presence behind him. Where Jamie goes, Damon will follow, within reason.

And that's okay.


End file.
